


Jungle Creatures

by Pallanwen



Category: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Genre: 80s Music, Angst, Blixa's weird fashion sense, Clubbing, Drugs, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Gratuitous German, Kissing, M/M, Musical References, Nightlife, Recreational Drug Use, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, West-Berlin, sex drugs & synth-pop, west-berlin nightlife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pallanwen/pseuds/Pallanwen
Summary: A night out atDschungelescalates in a way neither Nick nor Blixa would have expected.(Part of a longer story I've been writing, but this chapter works as a standalone fic)
Relationships: Blixa Bargeld/Nick Cave
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Jungle Creatures

It's Friday night and Blixa waltzes into _Risiko_, already buzzing with amphetamines. He has Wolfgang and Alex in tow, none of them particularly sober.

"I want to go dancing! Who's coming with me?"

Nick looks up from his table in the corner where he was scribbling into his notebook. After getting stuck with his novel again, he has been using the evening to come up with a list of interesting words that might one day turn into song lyrics. It worked better than expected – he hasn't even noticed it has gotten dark outside. 

He shrugs when Blixa approaches him.

"I'm not sure I'm in the mood today."

Blixa sighs dramatically. 

"Come on! You don't know what you're missing out."

"_Ja, los Mann, Nick!_"[1] Alex adds, bouncing from one foot to the other. Blixa seems to have been a bit too generous when it comes to sharing the cheap speed that gets him through the night.

Meanwhile, Maria, _Risiko‘s_ Austrian bartender and Blixa’s colleague, rolls her eyes as Blixa installs himself on a bar stool at the counter. 

"_Ey Blixa, ist das nachher nicht deine Spätschicht?_" 2]

Blixa shakes his head, his spiky hair bobbing.

"_Wir haben getauscht, weißt du nicht mehr?_"[3]

"_Ach scheiße, das war ja heute!_"4]

Nick isn't sure what exactly they're talking about, but it ends with a smug grin on Blixa's face as he reaches across the counter for the vodka bottle, ignoring Maria, who smacks his fingers mockingly.

A shot of vodka appears magically on Nick's table.

"Are you coming?"

"I'm writing."

"That can wait." Blixa takes the vodka glass and places it on the open pages of Nick's notebook. "The true poet knows when he needs to indulge in a bit of excess."

"What do you know about true poetry?"

"More than you think."

For a moment, silence descends between them. 

Trying to hold Blixa's gaze – as usual a bit too manic, a bit too intense – Nick is hovering within a limbo of indecision. After the ...incident from two weeks ago, going out with Blixa makes him nervous in a way he can't quite put into words. 

And he has enough reason to believe Blixa feels the same. There's something off in his behavior, something barely hidden behind the mask of his usual cockiness: an edginess that hasn't been there before. Something in the way he looks at Nick, how he flinches at the slightest touch. As if a thread has been unpicked in the fabric of their friendship – and every wrong move might threaten to unravel it further.

But... on the other hand, there's the vodka. And the pleading expression in Blixa's eyes. And the fact that Nick has never been able to refuse him anything. And now that he's been interrupted anyway, he's rather sure he won't be able to get any more writing done this night. 

So he sighs, closes his notebook and gets off his barstool. He throws an arm around Blixa's shoulders, choosing to ignore the bout of tension he encounters.

"Alright, I'll come dancing with you ... now where's another glass of that vodka?"

[...]

Much to Maria's vexation Blixa takes the vodka bottle with him. He shares generously and it's as good as empty when they arrive at _Dschungel_. They get in without paying the 10 DM, because Blixa is a regular (sometimes Nick wonders if there's any club in West-Berlin where he _isn't_ a regular).

Inside, they are greeted by the throbbing beat of the latest Soft Cell hit. The dance floor is already crowded with swaying figures in fishnets and glitter, black leather and colorful hair. 

Blixa, however, ignores the dance floor and leads his companions straight up the spiral staircase to the gallery. This is where the VIPs have their cocktails, usually not the place where you hang out if you're a punk who lives in squatted houses. Except if you know someone – and Blixa always knows someone.

[...]

"I've heard, Bowie was here last week," Alex says, a glass of vodka-o firmly installed in his hand. "He just sat at the bar and said nothing. But he watched people dancing for two hours."

Blixa shrugs. "They always say that. I've been coming here for four years and I haven't seen him once. Just a lot of guys who dye their hair and try much too hard to look like him."

"I met him once, in London," Nick adds, through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He likes the way how all eyes are now turning to him. 

"It was in a bar in Soho. He looked like he just stepped out of an 1920s painting – all giant eyes and sharp edges. I'm sure I asked him something extraordinarily stupid, but I can't remember what. I was very drunk at that time..."

Wolfgang is laughing while Alex gasps with frustration: "How can't you not remember that?" 

Even Blixa raises his eyebrows a little.

[...]

"_Was würdest du denn tun, wenn du den Bowie treffen würdest?_"[5] Wolfgang asks Blixa when they're having their second round of drinks. 

Even with his rudimentary grasp of German Nick thinks he can guess the meaning from context.

"_Na, was glaubst du denn?_"[6] Blixa's mischievous grin is accompanied by a gesture that doesn't need translation. 

"_Und danach würd ich ihn fragen, ob er 'nen Song mit mir aufnimmt._"[7]

[...]

Later, Nick finds himself shoulder to shoulder with Blixa, hunched over a glass table in the backmost corner of the gallery.

"This is good stuff," Blixa says as he cuts the lines with a razor he produced from god-knows-where. "I saved it for tonight so you can have some. Enjoy!"

When Nick sits up, his nostrils burning, his heart already racing, he can't remember how on earth he could not have been up for dancing at the beginning of the night.

[...]

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Clouds of dry ice are welling up everywhere, filling the room with candy-floss smell. There's neon lights reflecting on the gold mosaics on the floor and a mass of bodies gyrating to Cabaret Voltaire.

Somewhere at the edge of the dance floor Nick catches a glimpse of Alex, trying to come on to some pretty punk girl at least three or for years older than him. Wolfgang just went upstairs to the gallery where some German actor, Nick has never heard of, is buying rounds of champagne for everyone. As for Blixa - he seems to have disappeared hours ago. 

Nick doesn't care. The coke is still buzzing through his body, the party is just about to reach its peak and he enjoys the way he's finally able to abandon all reason, wholly giving himself to the rhythm and the music.

[...]

Just as the DJ puts on a brand-new Depeche Mode song Blixa reappears. The clouds of dry ice lighten and there he is, moving to the beat that's faster now, emphasized by samples with a distinctive industrial touch.

"_There's a new game we like to play you see,_“ Dave Gahan‘s voice rings out from the speakers. "_A game with added reality..._"

The crowd of dancers seems to part like the Red Sea as Blixa finds his way towards Nick. His eyes are glassy and manic, vast amounts of dark eyeliner giving him an otherworldly look, halfway between skull and Ziggy Stardust. 

Smiling, Blixa moves closer. Nick doesn't resist when Blixa puts his arm around him and drags him to the edge of the dance floor, towards the downstairs bar – the one without the VIPs, where you're having beer not cocktails. 

"_Zwei Bier!_"[8] Blixa yells at the barkeeper, his right arm still wrapped firmly around Nick's shoulders.

The barkeeper slides the bottles across the polished counter and suddenly Nick realizes how thirsty he is. It must have been hours since he last had something to drink that wasn't vodka. He downs half the bottle in one go, but his mouth feels still parched.

"Another one!"

He puts a crumpled-up _deutsch mark_ note on the counter and the barkeeper hands him a second bottle of Becks.

"Are you alright?" Blixa asks, still sipping on his first beer. 

Nick shrugs. "Had a bit too much, maybe. But I should be okay in a minute or so."

Blixa leans in closely. His words are slightly slurred and he has to grab the edge of the counter for support. 

"I'll wait here with you. Do you have a cigarette?"

"Yeah, sure." 

Nick reaches for his half-empty pack of Marlboros.

"_Feuer_, too?"

Cigarette dangling between his lips, Blixa looks at him expectantly.

Nick sighs and gives him a light. 

Blixa uses the chance to move closer until his whole body is pressing against Nick's side – all skin and bones wrapped in rubber and black leather. He is close enough, Nick feels the flat and frenzied rhythm of his breath. He also notices Blixa's dilated pupils and how much he's sweating: Little trickles are making their way down from his hairline along the side of his throat until they disappear under his shirt collar.

_If he goes on like this, he ends up like last week..._

Nick sighs once again. 

Then he grabs the edge of the leather _thing_ Blixa is wearing – another strange construction of vest and fetish belts, custom-made by Gudrun at _Eisengrau_.

"Aren't you dying of heat stroke in this?"

Blixa shrugs. "All a matter of habit." Then he grins. "I can take it off for you if you like."

"Either that or you have a glass of water. Or some fresh air..."

But Blixa is already reaching for the belts and buckles that are holding the garment together. In next to no time the gear drops to the floor, leaving Blixa in his leather trousers and a black shirt so drenched with sweat, it clings to his skinny frame. Stripped of his armor, he looks strange: an animal without its protective shell.

"I can go on, you know?" He starts to unbutton his shirt.

Nick stares at the exposed skin of Blixa's chest. This shouldn't make him so uncomfortable.

"No, no, just leave it like this, okay?!" 

He raises his hand and Blixa stops.

Nick wrinkles his nose. "I could have lived without the olfactory sensation, you know?"

Blixa ignores him. Instead, he bends down to pick up his leather gear, places it on a bar stool and moves closer towards Nick until their shoulders are touching. 

"I think I still haven't said thank you. For last week, you know? For taking care of me."

"Oh, that was nothing. That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

_Friends.... _

Nick isn't sure what to make of Blixa's expression when he pronounces the word.

He also notices how _close_ Blixa's face suddenly is, his breath hot on Nick's cheek. 

"I'm glad I met you, you know?" Blixa whispers against Nick's ear. His voice is raw and throaty, almost inaudible against the pulse of the music.

"Uhm, yes... I'm glad I met you, too. It's a gift to have you in the band."

He shouldn't have turned his head.

Suddenly, Nick is staring into the abyss of Blixa's coke-blown eyes. There's a hand on his cheek, pulling him closer. And then, Blixa's lips are pressing on his mouth, chapped skin brushing against his and Nick gasps, half in shock half in... what? 

His pulse is racing and there's a rushing sound in his ears and it must be the drugs, because now he's hardly able to breathe and theres Blixa's hot wet tongue pushing into his mouth. And for a second, Nick can't help it, he is falling, tumbling down into the kiss that's a cosmic catastrophe, unavoidable and inevitable and no, _no, no, he has to stop, has to..._

"No!"

He grabs Blixa by the shoulders and pushes him away – hard enough, Blixa's back collides with the counter and the half-empty beer bottle is crashing to the floor.

Blixa is staring at him with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. His cheeks are flushed and there's a sheen of wetness on his lips, Nick tries his best not to focus upon.

Time stands still – cut into little pieces by the repetitive beat of a DAF song blasting through the club.

"_Ach scheiße,_"[9] Blixa mutters through the final throes of the song.

"Sorry, I thought..." 

He clears his throat, looks into the distance, trying hard to avoid Nick's eyes. Then he straightens his back. 

"Forget it. It was nothing."

Another song starts: Hypnotic, rolling synth beats fill the air until a woman's deep voice is singing.

"_The shock in her eyes/  
Words that echo my thoughts..._"

Blixa's expression changes abruptly – as if someone flicked a switch within his head.

"That's Bettina! And Gudrun! _Geil!_ Malaria! here at _Dschungel_!"

Without so much as looking at Nick, he turns away and bolts towards the dance floor.

Still frozen, Nick watches him disappear into the dancing crowd. He doesn't speak to him again that night.

**Author's Note:**

> 1"Yes, come on, man, Nick!" [return to text]
> 
> 2"Hey Blixa, isn't it your late shift later on?" [return to text]
> 
> 3"We switched shifts, don't you remember?"[return to text]
> 
> 4"Oh shit, that was today!"[return to text]
> 
> 5"What would you do if you met Bowie?"[return to text]
> 
> 6"Well, what do you think...?"[return to text]
> 
> 7"And afterwards, I'd ask him to record a song with me." [return to text]
> 
> 8"Two beers!" [return to text]
> 
> 9"Shit!" [return to text]


End file.
